


Crooked Pine

by wigglebox



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Beach House, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-09 20:56:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20123719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wigglebox/pseuds/wigglebox
Summary: “A lie can run round the world before the truth has got its boots on.”― Terry Pratchett, The Truth





	Crooked Pine

You could see it from any part of the beach peninsula: The crooked pine tree stood high on the cliff, looking down to the sand dwellers below.

There were several small rumors that ran through the sleepy beachside community about who occupied the slate blue house next to the tree, but nothing could be proven. The rumors started in the summer of 2019 when two men took up residence in the home. No one saw movers or friends help move the men in. Some thought it happened in the overnight hours, but nearby neighbors squashed that theory when they showed doorbell security footage on their phone, proving nothing came by the house that night before a single light above the garage popped on around three in the morning. 

The security footage would glitch a bit, and then five after three an old Bentley appeared that gleamed in the watch light. No one got out of the car, but the footage then showed lights turned on in windows, one by one until they reached the upper floors. 

The footage would cut out around three-thirty and then come back online at seven in the morning, showing the front porch decorated with plants of various species, windchimes, and still that black car that appeared mysteriously in the night. 

It was all very peculiar. 

Two men living together in the town wasn’t a new concept. Indeed, there were several gay bars that dotted the coastline from one end of the town to another. One of the two men who occupied the crooked pine cottage, the blond one, preferred the piano bar. His voice wasn’t half bad but sounded better with a group. 

The men couldn’t look more apart in attitude and appearance. 

One was slightly shorter than the other, the blond one who preferred the piano bar at the local restaurant. He had a seemingly unending collection of seersucker shorts, white cotton button-downs (some with little embroidery patterns, some not), and favored tan Birkenstocks. That wasn’t uncommon. But, what did throw people for a loop, the ones who lived in town and saw the man almost daily, was that he never tanned, never burned, never had a single iota of summer color on him. He wasn’t deathly pale, but he didn’t look like he owned a seaside home. The pastels he wore also highlighted his paleness. It was like he was a walking SPF 70 sunscreen bottle.

The other man was a tall, lanky thing with red hair and sunglasses permanently attached to his face. They came in a few different styles but he’d always have them on, even at night. Instead of pastels and seersucker, this man preferred black and dark grays with small hints of red, even in the hot July sun. Board shorts, button-downs, t-shirts -- you name it, and it was in a dark shade of neutral and on his skin. People went on through the summer shocked he didn’t collapse of heatstroke. The man also didn’t smile much, making the locals nervous. They didn’t want hooligans in their quaint little tourist trap. 

The first rumor started as such:

Both men preferred Sweet Pea’s Ice Cream Shoppe over Norm’s Sweet Treats, mostly because of the flavor selection. The pastel man preferred blueberry pie in a waffle cone, and the man in black preferred cherry bonanza in a cup due to its messiness and tendency to run red everywhere if you weren’t careful. 

And one night, the man in black was not careful. 

As they were heading home that evening, the sun dipping below the horizon, the men passed by a gaggle of tourist tweens who rode by on their bikes. They didn’t get the best look at the strange man in all black and sunglasses, but they saw enough to get their imaginations going, especially the red that surrounded his mouth. 

What didn’t help was what the man in black said as the boys passed by: “I look like a bloody mess”. 

The next morning, the rumor that vampires lived at Crooked Pine Cottage ripped through the young and impressionable in the beach community like wildfire. 

That rumor lasted only a couple weeks. 

At the end of the second week, there was a near-drowning incident. 

The girl was fifteen and not a great swimmer. During the course of her vacation with her family, she had stayed on shore, wrapped in a sundress and staying away from the water with a book in hand. But on that Friday, for some reason, the girl decided to wade into the water. It was hot with a tropical, stagnant feel to the air, and she may have just wanted to ease the heat of the sun. But, there was a storm just offshore that had kicked up waves with a stronger riptide. The girl didn’t know that, and when her mother called her name and she turned her back to the ocean (you never, ever turn your back to the ocean), a wave knocked her down and sucked her under. 

There was only one lifeguard on at the time, and he attempted to go out to get her but the current was too strong, and soon she was too far out for him to get to her. It was a small beach, and the ocean rescue jet ski was at a neighboring one for the day. Town budget cuts. 

People on the beach were trying to call out to her, trying to get her to swim parallel to the riptide but the panic was clearly winning her logic over. 

The mother was in tears as her daughter’s cries started to become fainter, more spread apart. People were beginning to give up hope but couldn’t look away as the ocean slowly consumed the girl. 

The two men were on the beach as well, off on the farther end by the jetty. They didn’t hear the commotion at first, being so far away, but the man in black had elbowed the pastel one and pointed to the ocean. The mother turned away from the water out of horror just in time to see the pastel man place his hand on the beach, watching the waves closely. 

The mother watched as well, seeing the faintest ripple, almost like there was a fish under the sand, wiggle itself down to the tide. A shadow slid into the water, leaving behind a small wake as it swam, fast, to the drowning girl. 

The mother, jaw hanging open and blowing in the wind, watched as her daughter surfaced from the ocean. She was sputtering and coughing but was able to keep her head above water, even with the rough waves lifting her up and down. The entire crowd fell almost silent as the girl began to move back ashore, against the riptide, washing up gracefully onto the beach like a shell or pebble. 

A short time later, the girl was loaded up onto a stretcher to be taken to the hospital for observation. As her mother walked alongside the paramedics, she glanced again at the two men, reading their books with their toes in the sand. 

And that’s how the rumor that magic beings lived in the Crooked Pine Cottage.

Adults were swayed this time as well as the children. The children thought it was neat, the adults thought they were Satanists.

The third and final rumor came after Timothy Marshall decided to snoop where he shouldn’t have been snooping. 

The Marshalls were staying at the Beachmere Inn on the other side of the trees. The inn sat on the same cliffside as the cottage and had access to a rockier portion of the beach below. Mrs. Marshall didn’t want her son to traverse the rocks, even though he shouted multiple times that he was turning thirteen and he could most definitely handle himself. 

Instead, while his parents snoozed on the deck of their suite in the mid-afternoon heat, Timothy took the extra room key and snuck out. 

The waves were choppy that day and after several minutes of contemplation, he begrudgingly admitted his mother was right, and he’d probably wind up pancaked against the cliffs if he tried to explore. 

Timothy wound up exploring the neighborhood instead, noticing several abandoned-looking cottages in the area when they drove in, and wanted to see if he could explore one of those. Maybe even see a ghost. 

He had heard from one of the kids at the pool earlier in the week that there were ‘devil people’ living around the cliff, hell-bent on kidnapping wandering children and using them in their Satanic sacrifices. Timothy only half-believed the kid but also decided on his afternoon of exploration to craft a wooden cross out of twigs. Just in case. 

One of the cottages on Ontio Road was too boarded up for Timothy to break into. He looked around for any signs of the ‘devil people’ but only saw a few broken beer bottles and a discarded condom wrapper. 

On his way to the second cottage, he saw the crooked pine tree sticking up taller than the surrounding flora, the dark green a hard contrast against the bright blue sky. It swayed in the breeze, almost like a waving arm. Timothy stood still on the pavement to watch it, hypnotized. It didn’t try to blend in with the short, shoreline trees around it. 

It was only after a minute Timothy realized it was still moving even after the wind dissipated. 

Like someone was moving it. 

Without another breath, Timothy tore his eyes away from the swaying pine and started in the direction of the house it was next to. 

Several minutes later, Timothy sat crouched in the brush, phone up and ready to snap a picture. His mouth hung open, and his finger was frozen just above the photo button. 

Part of him wondered if he was dehydrated and hallucinating, but another part, a louder part, was saying the beings before him were _real_ and he was about to make a lot of money off a photo. Eat your heart out Daily Mail. 

Surrounded by the high walls of brush around their backyard, the two men who were subject to whispered rumors in town were lounging around under the afternoon sun. But, it wasn’t the lounging that made Timothy scramble for his phone --

Protruding from both of the men’s backs were large wings, a set of white and a set of black, stretching out into the sun's rays. The feathers practically shimmered in the light, and Timothy found himself entranced by the display. 

The man with the black wings had settled on a lounger, folded down all the way to allow him to sunbathe on his front. He was watching the other man who sat against the crooked pine, every so often rubbing his back against it with his face twisted in discomfort. The tree settled between the two outstretched wings, and the feathers danced in the sun. Every time the man jostled the tree behind him, pine needles rained down on him and the book in his lap. 

The man with the black wings looked amused. He said something, Timothy unable to hear thanks to another brush of wind, but it must not have been nice. The man against the tree turned his head and looked even more displeased. 

Timothy watched them speak for a few moments before he finally mustered up the nerve to take the photo. His legs were falling asleep. 

Up until the moment Timothy hit the button, he’d been confident in his hiding place in the shadows, assuming the sea breeze masked whatever sounds he made against the sticks and leaves. But, as soon as his finger hit the button, Timothy realized he forgot to flip his phone to silent. The artificial camera noise shot off into the quiet afternoon, and Timothy froze, eyes wide. 

Everything stood still, and Timothy could feel his heart trying to claw out of his throat. The man on the lounger and the man against the tree both turned their heads towards the bushes, right where Timothy sat. 

Logic was screaming at him to back away and run back to the Inn but his sleepy legs didn’t want to cooperate. 

Their eyes locked onto each other from across the yard, and Timothy hoped the men couldn’t actually see him, only the bushes and the shadows underneath. _Don’t breathe, can’t move, just hope you don’t get caught._

It felt like an hour but in reality was only a few moments before the men shifted their gaze to the other bushes, scanning the line like they may find the culprit of the offending noise just by sitting there. Timothy held his breath. 

Finally, they turned their heads back to each other and continued their discussion. 

Timothy made a break for it. 

He scrambled out from under the brush, twigs, and rocks scraping at his knees and the palms of his hands. A wayward branch smacked him in the face and he could feel it draw some blood. His mother was going to freak when she saw him but Timothy hoped that the picture would make her realize it was all worth it. 

Timothy crawled out from the bushes, and took off in a full sprint back to the Beachmere, not daring to look behind him. 

The picture was nothing. 

It was still there, but it was just a picture of a man sitting in the shade against the tree with a book in his lap and another man sunbathing on a lounge chair. No wings. No shimmering. No anything other than two, normal men. 

Timothy’s phone was taken away as a punishment from his irate mother. He was “grounded” for the remainder of the vacation, not allowing to go off into town without his parents at all times. It was _wrong_ to snoop on people, it was _wrong_ to take private photos of people without their consent, it was _wrong_ to lie to your parents, it was _wrong_ to trespass on people’s property. 

Timothy went to bed that night wondering if he was losing his grip on reality and he really did hallucinate the whole thing. 

But that didn’t stop him from trying to tell people what he saw anyways. 

The next day at the beach, Timothy managed to pal around with a group of kids playing frisbee in the shallow tide. They all got to discussing the Satanists by the crooked pine and Timothy interjected saying they weren’t Satanists, but actual supernatural beings. 

_How so?_

_There’s no such thing._

Timothy described what he saw with the black and white wings and the light shining off of the feathers, providing a rainbow metallic sheen. He described the man who was pushing them into the tree, uncomfortable with the things growing out of his back; He described the man with the black wings who was sunbathing in the afternoon light, wings outstretched into the warmth. Timothy tried to go into as many details as he could, realizing he had a captive audience. He then described the terrifying scene of him in the brush, waiting to get caught by them. 

_Were they angels?_

_Angels don’t have black wings. Demons do. _

_Why would they look like angel wings, though?_

_I don’t know, weren’t demons once angels?_

The discussion continued and Timothy felt vindicated, even if the photo on his phone didn’t provide any evidence. 

The rumor then spread that angels were watching over the little beach town. One may not have white wings but they were still feathery and not leathery and were angelic just the same. No one spoke this rumor out loud, knowing it was even more far-fetched than the other possibilities that had floated around for several weeks, but they kept the warmth of knowing they were being watched over close to their hearts. 

The children decided to get a look for themselves, to try and capture the men with the wings themselves. 

However, when they got to the top of the hill and to the house with the crooked pine, they found the house was completely deserted, with not even a flowerpot left behind. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Another little Good Omens fic. I started this on vacation. There's a very prominent tree at the beach I go to that you can see from many angles that is, in fact, a crooked pine! You can see in the photo at the top of the fic. 
> 
> It took me longer to write this than I wanted but sometimes your muse just flies away and is a meanie pants. 
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! This is lightly beta'd, but it had a look over from @jizzjazz1980 ! 
> 
> If there are any glaring issues with the text, please let me know! 
> 
> \- Jen (wigglebox on tumblr as well)


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